


5 Times Tony Regretted Peter's Enhanced Senses and The 1 Time They Saved Their Lives

by losingmymindtonight



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man - All Media Types, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Active Shooter, Blood, Domestic Fluff, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Gen, Gunshot Wounds, Hurt Peter Parker, Hurt/Comfort, Ned Leeds is a Good Bro, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Peter Parker Whump, Precious Peter Parker, Protective Tony Stark, Sensory Overload, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark is Good With Kids, Whump
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-20
Updated: 2018-05-22
Packaged: 2019-04-05 04:08:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14035851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/losingmymindtonight/pseuds/losingmymindtonight
Summary: Peter loves being Spider-Man. At the end of the day, he wouldn't trade it for anything. But sometimes, the world is just too loud.





	1. The Concert

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys! Welcome to the 5+1 that I’ve been working on. Should I be writing And You’ll Blow Us All Away? Doing homework? Being a productive member of society? Yes! Am I going to stop writing this shit so I can do any of that? No!  
> So, uh, there are some spoilers for The Lion King ahead? And, frankly, if you haven’t seen The Lion King yet, stop reading my fic and go watch that instead, okay?  
> Here we go!

Something was wrong with Peter.

Tony had come to expect a level of childlike enthusiasm from the kid. His arrival was almost always characterized by an explosion of energy and stumbling speech. Today, however, the teenager had only shot Tony a listless greeting before tossing his backpack onto the lab’s couch and curling up to start on his Calculus homework.

Nope. Tony knew Peter, and that was _not_ him.

“So, kid,” the older man said, leaning casually against his workbench, “you gonna tell me what’s wrong or do I have to guess?”

“Leave me _alone_ , Mister Stark.”

Holy shit. Did Peter just _snap_ at him? _His_ Peter? No fucking way.

“Whoa. Now I’m _really_ curious.”

“Seriously, Mister Stark, can you just leave it alone?”

“Nope. You know me. I’ve never left anything alone in the entire course of my life.”

“Yeah, even if you fucking should.”

Okay, and now the kid was cussing. Something was definitely very, _very_ wrong. And Tony would be damned if he was going to let Peter suffer in silence, even if that’s what he thought the kid thought he wanted.

“Hey, those words are for adults. Try again when you pay taxes. Now, you gonna to tell me what shoved a stick up your ass or do I have to call Aunt May and tell her you’re being a little shit?”

The kid said nothing. He just kept staring angrily at his textbook, as if it was the root of all his problems.

Okay. New tactic.

Tony moved tentatively to the couch, sitting gingerly against the opposite arm as the teenager.

“Hey, kiddo. Look at me for a sec.” Tony was surprised when Peter actually obeyed, staring at him with red-rimmed, watery eyes. “I just want to help. You know that, right?”

The comforting words felt foreign on his tongue, but the sentiment was genuine. That fact must have shone through since, within seconds, Peter deflated. His shoulders unwound, dropping down in tandem with a shuddering sigh.

“Ned invited me to a concert today.”

Tony rolled the words over in his head for a second, dissecting them and searching for a reason why that information would cause Peter so much distress.

“Okay.” He said slowly. “Want to enlighten me on why that’s a bad thing?”

Peter huffed out a frustrated breath, and Tony panicked as he saw more tears well up in the teenager’s eyes. “I-I… it _isn’t_ a bad thing. Not-not on its own.”

The kid’s next breath came out as a sob. Tony’s hands made an aborted movement of comfort, falling short as the billionaire realized suddenly that he had no idea what to do with a crying child.

_Shit._

“Whoa. Whoa. Okay. No big deal, Peter. No need to cry, right? Just talk it through with me, and I’ll fix it, okay?”

“You can’t, Tony. You can’t.”

“You don’t know that. I’m a genius, remember? I fix things. I’m famous for it.”

He got a watery laugh as a reward for his humor. “I can’t go.”

“To the concert?”

“Yeah.”

“Why not?”

“Remember… remember when I told you that my senses were dialed to eleven when I got my powers?”

Tony nodded. “Yeah. Heightened hearing, sight, smell, and a weird sixth sense that kind of scares me, if I’m being honest.”

“So can you imagine why a concert would be a terrible idea for me?”

And Tony could. He’d realized the problem as soon as he’d started listing Peter’s various abilities.

Concerts were bright and _loud_. _Very_ loud. And Peter flinched and covered his ears when Tony’s car stereo was turned up only halfway. A concert, with its thrumming bass and strobe lighting, would be agony for the teenager.

“Oh, Peter.”

The kid’s sobs just ratcheted up a notch, evolving from the occasional hiccup into full body shaking.

“I-I’m s-so t-tired of being _different._ I just w-want t-to be a n-normal teenager sometimes, you know?”

“I know, kid.” And Tony _did_ know. He’d grown up as a little celebrity. Hell, the press had gathered outside his damn kindergarten on his first day of school. He could still remember the cameras being shoved in his face as he clung tightly to his Captain America lunchbox. The concept of normal had always lived on the outskirts of Tony Stark’s worldview. Just close enough to see, but always lingering out of reach. “Believe me, I know.”

God, why did everything Tony say only seem to make the kid cry harder?

“I hate this. I hate this. I _hate_ this. I wish I wasn’t Spider-Man. I wish it could all go away.”

“Hush, Peter.” Tony said, desperately wracking his brain for a solution. “Listen. I’m gonna fix this. I swear. Just… just give me a minute and it’ll be all fixed up, okay? No big deal. Now just stop crying, okay? _Please_ stop crying, Peter.”

But Peter _didn’t_ stop crying. He just kept hiccuping as his face turned red with shame. “I-I’m sorry, M-Mister Stark.”

“Shut up. No more apologizing. Yeah. No more talking, actually.” He lunged up from the couch and began grabbed a series of tools, an old prototype for Clint’s hearing aids, and a pair of technologically updated sunglasses from one of the storage lockers. He threw them onto the work table in a rush. “No more talking until I’ve fixed this.”

He spent the next hour trying to block out the sounds of Peter’s sobs as his tears slowly, _painfully,_ dried up. By the end, Tony only had to suffer through the occasional sniffle. Each one bit like a knife.

“Here!” The billionaire exclaimed, spinning around with the souped-up hearing aids held in outstretched hands. Peter flinched a little at the suddenness of Tony’s outburst. “Look! I fixed it.”

Peter blinked, cheeks still blotchy from crying. “What… what is that?”

“Hearing aids. Except, they aren’t hearing aids anymore. I tweaked them a bit. Now, they’ll filter out background noise and bring audio input down to a comfortable level for Spider-boys.” Tony tossed them into Peter’s lap and pulled the pair of sunglasses off the table behind him. “And _these_ will help with the visual overload. You’ll look a little stupid, but it’ll help with the flashing lights. I’ll work on a pair of contact lenses that’ll do the same thing, but it might take me a bit of tinkering to get it right. Call these a quick fix.”

Peter took the glasses with shaky hands, staring at the reconfigured hearing aids and sunglasses with a look Tony couldn’t quantify. Then, to the billionaire’s horror, _more_ tears started welling up in the kid’s eyes.

“Peter! Peter, what’s wrong? What did I do? I made you cry _again._ Shit. I’m an awful person. What is it? I’ll-I’ll-”

The kid just shook his head and gave a wet chuckle. “I’m not crying cause I’m sad, Mister Stark. I’m just… you know…” Peter trailed off for a moment, and then met his mentor’s worried gaze with a shy smile. “Thank you.”

All Tony could do was stare. Then, he shot the kid a cocky grin of his own.

“Yeah, kid. You’re welcome.”

There was something terrifyingly _intimate_ about the look on Peter’s face and the emotion warming the billionaire’s chest that Tony _had_ to escape.

“So, what concert are you going to see, anyway?”

Peter blushed a little, breaking the eye contact that had made Tony so uncomfortable just moments before. For a reason he couldn’t explain, the loss of it made the billionaire’s chest ache. “Oh, um, Owl City, actually.”

“ _Owl City_? Like, the band that had that Fireflies song?” Peter looked surprised at Tony’s pop culture knowledge. He just rolled his eyes at the kid. “ _Yes,_ Peter. I’m down with the kids.”

The teenager actually had the audacity to laugh at him. “Sure you are, Mister Stark.”

“Is this how youth these days treat their elders?” Tony flopped down on the couch beside Peter with a dramatic groan. “The injustice.”

The kid just giggled. “Can we watch a movie tonight?”

“Sure thing, kiddo. I bet I can get F.R.I.D.A.Y. to find you a Winnie The Pooh movie that’s age appropriate.”

Peter stuck his tongue out at his mentor and then looked contemplative for a second. “What was your favorite movie as a kid, Mister Stark?”

What a weird question. Still, apparently Tony couldn’t deny this kid literally _anything_. “You promise not to tell Hawkeye, if you ever meet him?”

Peter looked confused, but consented. “Sure, Mister Stark.”

“Robin Hood. You know, the animated one with all the little animals?”

A huge grin split Peter’s face. “Yeah! I loved that movie!”

Tony couldn’t pinpoint why the fact that he and Peter shared a favorite childhood movie made him feel so damn fuzzy on the inside.

“What was yours?” Tony inquired. “Your favorite movie as a kid, I mean.”

“The Lion King.” The kid’s face lit up. “Have you ever seen it?”

Tony Stark had been 24 when The Lion King came out. His parents had only been dead for about three years, and he’d been too busy drinking and screwing his guilt away to pay much attention to a Disney movie made for children.

He didn’t say any of this to the kid, of course. Instead, he just shook his head. “No, I haven’t.”

Peter was practically bouncing up and down on the couch now. When he spoke, his words tumbled over each other in their haste to escape his mouth.  “Do you wanna watch it now? Can we?”

“Sounds like a plan, kiddo.”

\--

About an hour later, and they were watching Mufasa die.

“This is, uh, some heavy stuff for a kid’s movie, huh?” Tony offered, wincing a little as Simba begged his father to wake up. He unconsciously tightened the arm he had over Peter’s shoulders.

Suddenly, the kid shifted to look at him with wide, desperate eyes.

_“Dad, come on. You gotta get up. Dad? We gotta go home.”_

“I-I don’t think I like this movie, anymore.”

Tony stared at Peter for a minute. The kid physically flinched when Simba started yelled for help.

_“Help! Somebody! Anybody…”_

When the little lion cub burrowed into his dead dad’s chest and Peter unconsciously pressed himself against his mentor’s side, Tony nearly shut the TV off.

Nearly.

Instead, he just caught the kid’s eyes and gave him an easy smile.

“I swear I won’t fall off a cliff. Besides, I’m Iron Man. If you don’t remember, I can fly.” He poked the kid’s side. “And even if I couldn’t, I’ve got Spider-Man to catch me.”

Peter smiled, bright and full and easy. “Yeah. You do.”

In the end, Tony really liked The Lion King.


	2. Overload

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes, Peter has bad days.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys!  
> Thank you so much for being so awesome about the first installment of this! I’m so glad to see that people are as hype for it as I am!
> 
> WARNINGS: sensory overload, mentions of panic attacks

Sometimes, Peter had bad days.

Not your typical, teenager bad days. I mean, he had those too, obviously, but those were easy compared to his Spider-Man bad days.

Ever since the spider bite, Peter’s senses had become, for lack of a better word, _violent._ He’d learned how to handle them, mostly, but every once in a while all the input was just _too_ _much_. On those days, Peter could hear the drumming heartbeats of his classmates and the water dripping through the pipes overhead just as clearly as if the sounds were right next to him. He could smell the peanut butter sandwich a girl was eating four classrooms down and the pencil shavings in the garbage outside the closed window. He could barely even make out what his teacher was writing on the board through the way the fluorescent lighting warped and streaked and pierced his vision.

Those were what Peter called bad days, and today was a very bad day.

When he’d woken up to the sound of a car backfiring three blocks over, he’d known. The smell of Aunt May’s perfume had almost made him wretch up the four bites of toast he’d managed to shove down at breakfast. His clothes felt too tight and too loose all at the same time. Every time his sweatshirt would brush against his bare skin, he’d have to concentrate all his willpower on not tearing it off in the middle of the subway.

By the time he’d made it to school, Peter was nearly in tears.

It was all just so _frustrating._

Everything hurt. His head felt like it was splitting in two. Peter knew that it wouldn’t go away until the episode quieted down. That be could as soon as tomorrow, or as far away as a week.

He just had to suck it up.

_I’m Spider-Man,_ he told himself, _and Spider-Man is stronger than this._

Ned could tell it was a bad day the moment he saw him.

“Hey, dude.” His best friend was whispering. Thank god. Peter didn’t think he could handle any speech that was even a decibel higher. As it was, his friend’s words ricocheted in his ears as loud as any gunshot. Peter could practically taste the vibrations in the air. “How bad?”

“Bad. Really bad.” God, even using his voice hurt.

“Can I help?”

The first few times this had happened, Ned had tried to make Peter go home. He’d given up that plan after one particular argument had escalated to the point where Ned yelled, loudly, and the harsh noise had made Peter pass out in the middle of the bathroom. Now, he just tried to help his stubborn friend limp through the day with as little pain as possible.

In all honesty, Peter had no idea how he made it through his first few periods. Ned kept shooting him worried glances as the hours ticked by and, honestly, Peter couldn’t blame him. If he looked even half as bad as he felt, the teenager was sure he looked about a minute from death. His best friend had to practically carry him out of their last class before lunch. When they finally made it to the cafeteria, Ned gave his friend an apologetic frown before carefully sliding Peter’s phone out of his pocket.

“Huh? What’re you doing?”

“Sorry, dude, but you can’t keep doing this to yourself.”

Peter was still trying to process the words through the pain in his head when he heard Ned start talking.

“Hello? Mister Stark? Uh, yeah, this is Ned. Ned Leeds? I’m Peter’s friend. No, no, he’s fine. Well, okay, he _isn’t_ fine, but he also isn’t bleeding out this time. No, Sir, it's just a bad day and he’s being stubborn. You know, a bad day? He hasn’t told you about those? _Peter._ Yeah, like, sensory overload, I guess? He gets them a lot. Uh, a couple times a month? This one’s really bad though. Yeah, that’d be great. No, I don’t think it’s a good idea to give him a phone right now. He can barely see straight. Um, yeah, I think they hurt a lot. Thank you, Mister Stark. No problem. Yeah, I’ll see you in a bit.”

Peter nearly screamed when Ned pulled him to his feet. His eyes squeezed shut as he swallowed a mouthful of vomit. “I know. I’m sorry I’m touching you, dude. I know that’s not good on bad days, but I gotta get you to the front office, and then Mister Stark’ll fix it.”

Peter just kept his eyes glued shut and tried to ignore how he could feel every abnormality and curve in Ned’s fingerprints as his friend guided him to front of the school.

\--

Peter looked awful.

His friend, his _best_ friend, if Tony remembered correctly, was sitting nervously beside him, alternating between glancing at his watch and his companion as he waited for the billionaire to arrive. As soon as the kid noticed Tony’s presence, he jumped up and rushed over to meet him.

“Mister Stark! I’m so glad you’re here.” Ned was whispering, and Tony glanced over in surprise at the way Peter flinched away at even the miniscule sound.

“Hey, Ned.” Tony matched the teenager’s tone. “So he’s really overloaded, huh?”

“Yeah. Today’s as bad as I think it’s ever been. Can you do anything for him?”

“I have an idea.” Tony quickly wrote his signature on the sign-out sheet the starstruck lady behind the desk offered him and made a beeline straight for Peter. He paused to address Ned again. “You should get back to class.”

“Yeah, of course.” Ned glanced at his best friend nervously. “Will you let me know if he’s okay?”

“I’ll text you as soon as he’s through it.”

“Thank you, Mister Stark.” The kid grabbed his backpack and slid out without another word, being careful to close the door to the office as softly as possible.

Tony let himself have a brief moment of gratitude that Peter had such a good friend.

“Hey, Peter.” Tony tried to make his voice sound as unjarring as possible, but the kid still winced in pain. “I think I’ve got an idea on how to help you, but we have to get to the car first. I’m going to have to touch you. Is that alright?”

He got a weak nod in return, and Tony made sure that his hands were solid but gentle as he guided the kid out of the school and over to where Happy was waiting in the car. The driver winced when he saw the kid’s pinched expression, but wisely said nothing.

Tony slid one of the extra Spider-Man masks out of the seat pocket. “Alright, kiddo. I’m going to put this mask on, okay?”

Peter gave a little whimper, which Tony took as an affirmative.

He didn’t waste any time once the mask was in place. “Karen? Initiate Lights Out Protocol. Everything except my voice, please.”

It must have worked, because the kid’s muscles relaxed all at once and he slumped forward like a marionette with its strings cut off.

Tony caught him, feeling more than a little unnerved as the kid’s head lolled lifelessly against his shoulder. “F.R.I.D.A.Y.?”

“Mister Parker in entirely conscious. In fact, his vitals appear to be rapidly stabilizing.”

The billionaire breathed a sigh of relief as he tenderly lowered the kid down to rest on his lap.

“Better?”

“Hmm. Wow.” Even though Tony knew the protocol had shut off all visuals, the mask’s eyes blinked slowly even as Peter did.

The Lights Out Protocol was something Tony had designed for a situation where Peter went into sensory overload and needed a quick fix. Of course, at the time, he’d imagined it might be necessary during a battle or on patrol, not during school. In essence, it blocked out all sight, smell, and sound. Peter could choose specific sounds that were filtered in, like Tony’s voice, but everything else was blocked off.

“I’ll take that as a yes.” The billionaire murmured, rubbing comforting circles on the kid’s arm.

“‘S good.” Peter’s sleepy words sounded thick in the air. “‘S quiet.”

Tony couldn’t imagine functioning with the level of sensory input Peter experienced on a daily basis. The isolation of the mask must be an actual breath of relief, especially in the middle of an overload.

“That’s what we’re looking for, buddy.” He slid a hand up to knead at the spot where Peter’s shoulder met his neck. Tony could feel the kid sinking into his lap. “Your head still hurt?”

“Little. Tired.”

“I bet.” Tony had experienced sensory overload a few times before, and each episode had left him _exhausted._ “You get some shut eye. I’ll wake you up later.”

The kid burrowed his face into Tony’s stomach and was out within minutes.

“Karen,” he whispered, hyper aware of the kid’s sensitive ears, “block out my voice now, too. And have F.R.I.D.A.Y. alert me if he wakes up.”

Once he was confident the kid wouldn’t be disturbed, he dropped his head back against the headrest with a strangled groan.

“Are we headed to the Tower, Boss?” Tony noticed a little smugly that Happy had adjusted the rearview mirror so that he could glance periodically at the kid.

“Yes, please. Call May and let her know what happened, too. Just downplay it, will you? The last thing the kid needs right now is a panicking aunt.”

“I’m on it.”

Tony spent the rest of the car ride rubbing the pad of his thumb in smooth circles over Peter’s pulse point and taking comfort in the steady beat of life that thrummed against his fingertips.

\--

Later, when Peter had slept off the overload and was eating a bowl of oatmeal in Tony’s kitchen, the billionaire addressed the elephant in the room.

“Why didn’t you tell me you had those episodes a lot?” He sat on a barstool next to the kid’s. “I could have helped you.”

Peter shrugged. “I can handle them.”

“That didn’t look like handling it, kiddo.”

Peter broke quickly. He always did. “It just… I’m supposed to be _better_.”

Tony winced at the echo of the words he’d told the kid after the infamous Ferry Incident.

“This doesn’t make you weak, kiddo. Hell, I can’t believe you’ve handled this for as long as you have without help.” When Peter didn’t respond, Tony gave a little sigh. “Did you know that I have panic attacks?”

“No.” The kid’s voice was barely a whisper. He was staring at the bowl of oatmeal so dedicatedly that Tony wondered if it might shatter.

“Well, I do. They’re pretty common, actually. Sometimes, especially when Rhodey or Pepper aren't around to talk me down, I pass out from hyperventilating. Do you think that makes me weak?”

“N-no! Of course not!”  
“Then you’re not allowed to think that _this_ makes you weak, either. Are we clear?”

“Yeah.” Peter shifted, poking at his oatmeal absently and wincing when the spoon made contact with the glass bowl.

Tony shifted straight into his overprotective mode. “Does your head still hurt? I can try to find some painkillers for you in the MedBay. Is the room too bright? F.R.I.D.A.Y., turn these damn lights down.”

Peter was smiling amusedly as his mentor rambled, but Tony didn’t miss the way his shoulders relaxed as F.R.I.D.A.Y. brought the room’s lighting down to a more muted level. “I’m okay. I’m just always a little… sensitive after one of these episodes. It’s getting better. I just need to do something quiet for a bit.”

“What do you usually do?”

The kid looked away shyly. “Oh, I, uh, I sometimes, um, play with Legos?”

Of course he did. The world didn’t deserve this kid’s purity. “I’ve got a couple sets laying around,” he may or may not have noticed Peter’s little hobby and stocked up at the Lego store a couple months ago, “so we can build something, if you want.”

Peter’s face lit up, and that was how Tony Stark found himself sitting on the floor of his living room building a Lego airplane with a fifteen year old kid.

“I like the simplicity of it.” Peter said suddenly. “Of the Legos, I mean. It gives me something else to focus on. Helps me block it all out.”

Tony stopped working for a moment to study the kid’s face. He seemed completely relaxed, all loose limbed and mellow. It was a little bizarre, if he was being honest, seeing the kid so soft and subdued. Tony was used to him being a hurricane of energy and excitement. It wasn’t necessarily a bad thing, though. Just different.

“That makes sense.” It did, too. Tony liked to build robots when his anxiety was at its worst. Working with his hands helped redirect the negative energy into something productive. Or at least, that’s what his therapist said.

Peter was so focused on assembling one of the wings that Tony managed to snap a covert picture and send it off, along with a quick text, to Ned without the kid even noticing.

_Tony Stark: crisis averted. he’s fine. thanks for the call._

_Ned Leeds: Anytime, Mister Stark! Thank you for taking care of him. He’s lucky to have you._

_No,_ Tony thought, a fond smile curling around his lips as he watched Peter fiddle with a propeller piece, _I’m the lucky one._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have social anxiety, and one of the most common aspects of my panic attacks is sensory overload. Obviously, Peter’s is going to be VERY different, thanks to his enhanced senses and all, but the aftermath I describe is very similar to what I experience. I’m always super tired when it’s over, and then I tend to feel weirdly detached and mellow once I finally feel safe again. I think it’s just my body unwinding, really.  
> I hope you guys liked it! I know this one is a little short, but if it was any longer I think it would get a little repetitive and boring. The next chapter is a little different than the first two, so fingers crossed it turns out the way I hope it does. Thank you so much for reading! As always, I really appreciate all your reviews and suggestions! I love you guys!


	3. Active Shooter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was supposed to be a boring press conference.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is dedicated to everyone who has been impacted by gun violence.
> 
> WARNINGS: active shooter situation, gunshot wounds, blood, the author using fiction to make political commentary

It was supposed to be a boring press conference.

He’d only brought Peter along for the shits and giggles. Tony had thought it’d give the kid a chance to get a glimpse at the media aspect of Stark Industries while staying firmly on the sidelines. After all, Tony _did_ plan to hand the company down to Peter, eventually. He’d have to get used to this kind of stuff.

Tony knew it would be rough on his senses, which is why he’d ordered the kid to wear the sunglasses and the hearing-aids-turned-sound-filters in an attempt to keep the overload at a minimum. At first, the kid had protested that he’d look stupid. The billionaire had just shot back that he’d made the hearing aids to be unnoticeable and Tony himself would be wearing sunglasses.

The phrase “you’ll just look like a mini Tony Stark” was what won him the battle.

Tony had dressed Peter in a suit he’d had made for him. The kid had babbled excitedly about how soft the material was, and the display of youthful exuberance had made Tony smile that smile that was reserved just for Peter.

The press conference was five minutes from starting when Tony pulled the kid aside for a final pep talk.

“Alright, kiddo.” Tony fiddled with the knot on Peter’s tie and couldn’t help the rush of affection he felt for the nerdy little kid standing in front of him. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught Pepper’s eyes softening as she watched the pair interact. “So, let’s go over this one more time. What’s your job?”

“I’m gonna stand between Pepper and Happy and, uh,” Peter blushed, but Tony gestured for him to continue with a cheeky grin. The kid groaned and mumbled the rest of his orders, “and, um, look adorable.”

Tony gave Peter’s cheek a little pat, much to the already embarrassed teenager’s horror. “You got it. Those doe eyes of yours are gonna knock ‘em dead.” Peter let out a strangled whimper and swatted Tony’s hand away from his face. The billionaire moved his touch to Peter’s shoulder, gentling his tone to catch the kid’s attention. “If you need to slip out, the door’ll be right behind you. The only time they’ll actually be looking at you is when we come in together.”

“Why do we have to do that, by the way?” Peter shot a nervous glance to the door looming behind them. “I can just come in with Happy at the end, right?”

“I want to introduce you. I didn’t give you an actual internship for nothing, and the press has seen us together enough to start getting curious. You’ll come in, stand beside me while I talk about how great you are, and then you can hide behind Happy’s skirts as much as you’d like. Capiche?”

Peter gave a jerky nod, and Tony reminded himself to keep half an eye on the kid during the presentation. If he thought Peter was starting to struggle, he’d have Pepper shut it down.

Tony guided Peter towards the door and slid his sunglasses into place, prompting the kid to do the same. “You got those sound filters activated?”

“Yeah.”

“Perfect. Here we go, mini me.”

The kid followed him through the doors grinning.

The beginning of the conference went brilliantly. Peter stood shyly beside him while Tony crowed about how the kid was “his personal intern” and that was would be “the future face of Stark Industries.” He’d been about to shoo the kid back to Happy when Peter stiffened and grabbed his arm.

Tony turned and leaned close to him, making sure the microphone was far enough away that it wouldn’t catch the whisper. “Kid?”

Peter’s voice came out as a wave of pure, unbridled terror. “Something’s wrong.”

Before Tony could ask what he meant, someone screamed, the sound of rapid gunfire ricocheted off the walls, and Peter was shoving him away from the podium with more force than he’d ever had the kid use on him before.

Tony managed to keep his head from hitting the floor, but the force of the fall knocked all of the breath from his lungs. He stayed on the ground for longer than he would have liked, gasping in a few hasty breaths, before pushing himself up on aching elbows.

The stage had erupted into chaos. Tony could feel the vibrations of footsteps as reporters and SI employees alike rushed for exits. Security guards were scrambling to bar exits and stem the flow of panicked civilians. The billionaire felt bile rise in his throat when he saw a collection of still forms laying in ever-growing pools of blood. Somewhere in the distance, sirens were howling.

He brought his watch to his face in a frantic jerk and gasped out an order. “F.R.I.D.A.Y.? Call the suit.”

“I-I can’t, Sir. There appears to be a dampener that’s interfering with my signals. I can’t make contact with any of the Iron Man suits.”

_Shit._

Everything was a blur of panic and gunshots and helplessness. For a moment, Tony Stark didn’t know what to do.

And then his gaze settled on the kid just feet away from him and his world slid into hyperfocus.

Peter pressed a confused hand to his chest, brow furrowing as he swayed in place. Suddenly, his grip flailed out and latched onto the podium. Even with is new balance point, his knees seemed terrifyingly shaky.

“Peter!” Tony could hear someone shouting for everyone to stay down. Why wasn’t the kid lunging to the floor with everyone else? “Peter! Drop!”

And then the teenager _did_ drop. Suddenly. _Lifelessly._

As his grip went limp and slid away from the podium’s metal sides, there was a bloody handprint left behind.

\--

Tony crawled across the floor on his stomach until his fingers brushed against the unmoving teenager’s shoulder. “Kid?” Nothing. He bumped a fist against his arm. “Peter?”

A groan. Okay, good. The kid was still alive. Tony could work with alive.

He pushed himself over Peter as another round of gunshots, accompanied by screams and shattering glass, spewed around the room. As soon as the commotion ended, Tony pushed himself up until he was crouched low over the teenager and tried to survey the damage.

Peter’s pain filled eyes locked onto his mentor’s face just as his hand curled around the lapel of his jacket. “Mister Stark.”

“Are you hit, Peter?” The kid’s eyes rolled, and Tony shoved a harsh palm against his collarbone. “Peter! Did you get hit?”

The kid just groaned again, hands scrabbling against the floor and legs jerking weakly. It was all the answer Tony needed. He tore open the front of the kid’s jacket and nearly vomited at the sight that greeted him.

There was a fucking _bullet hole_ in the right side of Peter’s chest.

Shit. What the hell was Tony supposed to do? The kid had a fucking _hole in his chest_ and there was still an active shooter on site. Tony knew the protocol. No paramedics were going to be allowed in to address casualties until the threat was neutralized.

He didn’t know how long that last part might take, but he _did_ know that the position of the entry wound meant that the bullet had punctured the kid’s lung. And that meant that they only had so much time before Peter wouldn’t be able to breath through the blood filling his chest cavity.

And… and _shit._ Did the bullet pass through the kid’s torso, or did it get buried somewhere in his spinal cord?

_Please don’t let him be paralyzed._

Another spray of gunfire jolted him out of the thoughts. He didn’t have time for this. Peter was bleeding out, and still very much exposed. While Tony knew that moving someone with a gunshot wound and possible spinal trauma was _not_ a good idea, he also knew that both he and Peter were dangerously tempting targets right now.

First step: find cover.

A frantic glance showed that the best spot would be behind the podium, which had somehow been knocked over during the chaos. It was only a few feet away, and offered just enough cover to conceal both Peter and Tony, as long as the billionaire stayed low.

“I’m sorry, Peter, but I’m going to move you and it’s going to hurt like a bitch.” Another round of gunfire. Where the hell were the cops? “Just keeping breathing.”

He grabbed the kid under the armpits and hauled him behind the relative safety of the fallen podium. The whimper of pain that slipped through Peter’s lips at the jostling made Tony feel lightheaded with concern.

The moment they were concealed, he jumped into action. There was nothing he could do about the punctured lung, but he could help stem the external bleeding. That would buy Peter a little more time.

That was all they needed. They just needed _time_.

“Easy, kid. Stay still.” He tore off his jacket and folded it into a neat square, laying it against the wound and steeling himself before pressing down on the fabric _hard_. Peter let out a choked off scream, and Tony hastily shushed him.

The kid coughed, and blood bubbled against his lips. “D-did I g’t shot?”

The laugh that raced up Tony’s throat was hysterical. “Yeah, kid. I’d say so.”

“Huh. Tha’ sucks.” The kid sucked in a sharp breath that _wheezed._ “Ow.”

“‘Ow’ sounds about right.” Peter’s breaths were morphing from quiet wheezing to wet sucking sounds. That wasn’t good. That was so completely and totally _not good_. “You breathing okay?”

“Hard. Hurts.”

“No shit.” Every one of the kid’s pained whines echoed deep in Tony’s chest. Anger, hot and vivid and woefully misplaced, raced through his veins. “Why’d you do that, huh? Why the _fuck_ did you do that?”

“Do wha’?”

“Jump in front of me!” He was briefly tempted to shake the damn kid. “Why did you do that?”

“‘S you.” Peter choked off a moan, but the strangled noise that escaped still made Tony’s hands clench around the blood-soaked fabric pressed against the kid’s chest. “Ha-had to… protect you.”

“Damn it, Peter. It’s _my_ job to protect _you._ I’m the adult. You’re the kid. The sooner you get that through your thick skull, the sooner I can stop shortening my lifespan.”

“Sorry.”

His anger faltered and died instantly. Why the hell was he yelling at a kid who was bleeding out from a bullet wound that was meant for _him_? “No. No, Peter. Don’t be sorry. _I’m_ sorry. Listen, we’ll talk about this later. Just focus on staying awake, okay?”

“M’kay.”

The next wave of bullets was met with returning gunfire and a series of new, less frantic shouts.

“Hear that, buddy?” Tony pulled one hand away from Peter’s chest in order to brush his fingers over the kid’s face. He smeared lines of red across the pale skin. God, the jacket had already soaked through. “The police are here. We’ll have you fixed up in no time.”

Peter just blinked up at his mentor. He tried to suck in air, but the breath gurgled in his lungs and the exhale just pushed up a mouthful of sticky blood. For a heart stopping moment, the kid choked on the liquid. Tony rushed to push him onto his side so he could spit it out onto the ground.

More gunfire. Footsteps race into the room.

_Hurry. Please, hurry._

“He’s down! Shooter down! I repeat, threat is neutralized. Get the medics in here, now!”

_Thank god._

“Help’s coming, Peter.” Tony tried to ignore how pale and clammy the kid’s forehead was as he brushed his hands through Peter’s curls. “It’s almost here. Hang on, buddy. Hang on.”

Another rush of footsteps sounded, and Tony could hear medics shouting to each other as they rushed to stabilize casualties. It broke the billionaire’s heart, but he tore himself away from the fading kid just long enough to peek out from behind the podium and call out.

“Help! I’ve-I’ve got a kid. He’s been shot. He needs help!”

It was only after Peter had been whisked away into a nearby ambulance and Tony was sitting on the blood-stained ground that he realized just how many body bags the police were setting out.

He threw up all over the spot where Peter had been only minutes before.

\--

Happy, who was, thankfully, unharmed, gave him a ride to the hospital. Something in the back of Tony’s mind suggested that maybe the man shouldn’t be driving after the adrenaline rush an active shooting would have caused, but that was the logical side of his brain and he just couldn’t seem to focus on rationality when Peter goddamn Parker could be _dying_.

Dying from a bullet that was meant for _him._

Happy made him change his clothes and wash off the blood, _Peter’s blood_ , in the hospital bathroom before guiding him into the waiting room.

It was packed. It occurred to Tony that this must be the hospital that received most of the shooting victims.

_God, there were so many people here. So many victims._

May Parker was already there, head bowed and hands fidgeting nervously in her lap. She looked up when she heard his footsteps approaching and leapt to her feet.

In all honesty, he had expected, at the very least, a slap.

Instead, she hugged him.

“Tony!” He stiffened against the embrace, pulse racing. “Thank you. Thank you _so_ much.”

Was she… _thanking_ him? “What?”

“Pepper and Happy told me what you did. You didn’t leave him, Tony. You stayed even when you should’ve run. You _saved_ him.”

“If you’re thanking me, then they didn’t tell you enough.”

She pulled away but kept both her hands braced on his shoulders. “What do you mean?”

“He took that bullet for _me_ , May. Hell, it was _my_ press conference. I made him come. God, this is all my fault.”

May fixed him with one of the scariest glares he’d ever seen, and that was saying something for a man who was a billionaire tycoon by day and a superhero by night. “Don’t you dare, Stark. Peter chose to take that bullet for you. Did you ask him to do that?”

“No.”

“Then this isn’t your fault.” She gave him a teary smile, swallowing hard. “Now, are we going to kick his ass for that when he wakes up? You bet. So I need you on your A game, Stark. You better be preparing the verbal beatdown of the _century_.”

He could hear the tremor behind her words, and he knew full well that neither of them had any real plans to discipline the kid when this was all over. But the humor helped lighten his mood, and he managed a smile that was only half a grimace.

“On it, Miss Parker. You can count on me.”

“I know I can.”

\--

Hours passed. Doctors came in and out, pulling families aside to inform them of their loved ones’ fates. At some point, Tony started a morbid game in his head. He tried to gauge just how awful the news was by the look on the Doctor’s face as they emerged from the OR.

He counted at least four casualties by the time Peter’s surgeon emerged.

_Please don’t let him be the fifth._

“Family of Peter Parker?”

Both Tony and May leapt to their feet. The billionaire found that he was incapable of reading the man’s expression. The thought terrified him.

And then, the doctor smiled.

“He’s going to be just fine.”

That was all Tony ever needed to hear.

\--

Peter woke up just twelve hours after a team of surgeons worked furiously to repair a tear in his right lung. The chest tube was removed twelve hours after that. Before long, the kid was sitting up in bed, smiling stubbornly past Tony and May’s worried expressions, and spewing a litany of bullshit phrases like “I’m fine, you guys,” and “oh no, it doesn’t hurt at all, Mister Stark.”

Basically, everything was back to normal.

It was on day two that Tony left to grab a cup of coffee and came back to see that Peter had turned on the news.

_“It’s an unfortunate problem, but not one that will be resolved by taking guns away. The shooting at the Stark Industries press conference today only affirms that.”_

_“How so?”_

_“Tony Stark has stood openly for gun control, syncing with his negative stance on the manufacturing and distribution of weapons, and that belief lead his security to be grossly unprepared and unequipped to deal with a shooting like this.”_

_“So you think that in standing against guns, Tony Stark actually brought this shooting about?”_

_“In many ways, yes. I do. If anything, we need to be working on arming more citizens and tightening sentences for criminal activities such as the distribution of drug-”_

Peter flipped to the next news channel, where a series of pictures were sliding across the screen while a news anchor spoke solemnly in the background.

_“Among the seventeen victims of the SI Shooting were two minors. Casey Briggs, age six, was walking by the SI building when she was struck in the chest, abdomen, and skull by stray bullets. She died en route to the hospital. It was reported this morning that Casey’s twelve-year-old brother, Austin Briggs, who was with his sister when she sustained her fatal wounds, also passed away from his injuries in the early hours of this morning. Among the surviving victims is Peter Parker, the sixteen-year-old SI intern who is being heralded as a hero for pushing Tony Stark safely away from the chaos. It is reported that he is recovering from a gunshot wound to the chest in Stark’s private medical facility. All reports suggest that he is stable and should make a full recovery.”_

Another click. This time, angry voices washed across the room as a collection of panelists argued.

_“I would like to bring attention to the fact that Mister Larsen just lied on national televi-”_

_“What did I lie about?”_

_“You said that the gun show loophole doesn’t exist. However, it’s a known fact that many of the regulations that ensure the restricted distribution of semi-automatic weapons like the AR-15 are not enfor-”_

_“The gun show loop hole is majorly misconstrued by the left in order to-”_

_“I didn’t interrupt you, so I would appreciate it if you would let me-”_

_“You just called me a liar on national television and you’d like me to stand for it? Like I was saying, the gun show loop hole is a-”_

_“I’d like you to let me finish my statement, Sir.”_

_“Bullshit! Listen here-”_

At this point, Tony had had enough. He pulled the remote out of Peter’s hands and shut the screen off with a satisfying click.

“Entertaining, isn’t it?”

Peter looked at Tony with tears welling in his eyes. “It’s never gonna end, is it?”

“That’s not true, buddy. One day, we’ll all be dead and there won’t be anyone around to create thoughtless violence.”

His joke was met with a quivering lip and tear-stained cheeks. “Is that what it’s gonna take?”

“Oh, Peter.” Tony wiped some of the tears away with a calloused thumb. “I don’t know. I hope not. But you can’t control what other people do.” He gestured towards the screen with a sigh. “That’s part of the problem.”

“Nobody’s even resolving anything!” Peter’s voice crept up an octave, and Tony felt a brief flash of fear for the kid’s healing lung. “They’re just yelling at each other! It’s like they don’t even care that people are _dying_ , Mister Stark.” The teenager’s hands fisted in the front of his mentor’s shirt as a sob shook his body. Tony didn’t miss the way the kid winced as the movement pulled on his wound. “Why don’t they care that people are dying?”

“It’s easy to distance yourself from violence when you haven’t seen it up close and personal like you and I have.” Tony brushed a lock of hair out of Peter’s face. “I used to do the same thing, kiddo. They called me the Merchant of Death. I sold weapons that killed hundreds of thousands of people. And I knew, logically, what my weapons could do. Hell, I produced them for maximum damaged. Maximum casualties. But up until Afghanistan, I’d never actually seen someone die because of them. And then I did. And that changed everything.”

“But they’re never going to see it.”

Tony chose his next words carefully. He wasn’t entirely sure if they would make the kid feel better or worse, but he said them anyway. “Eventually, everyone is going to be affected by this. It’s spreading. Someday, sooner rather than later, most of the population will have had a personal experience with gun violence. Even if they themselves aren’t affected, they’ll be doing what I was doing just a few hours ago: watching someone they love laid out in a hospital bed, or a casket, with a bullet in their gut. And that changes perspectives.”

“So _that’s_ what it’s going to take? Enough people have to… have to _die_ for them to listen?”

“Maybe, buddy. Like I said, I don’t know. I can’t see the future.” Another sigh. He ran his hand over the crown of Peter’s head and settled it on the back of his neck. “If I could, I would’ve never brought you to that press conference.”

Peter shrugged. “It’s not your fault. You couldn’t have known that that was gonna happen.” His eyes dropped to his blanket. He picked dejectedly at a loose thread. “I’m sorry I scared you.”

_Oh, Peter. I don’t deserve you._

Tony sat down on the edge of the kid’s bed gently, cautious of his injuries, and tugged his hands away from the sheets. “Don’t apologize. I just… I don’t want you to ever sacrifice yourself for me again. Do you understand? I’m not worth it. You’ve got a life ahead of you, Peter. I’ve already got to live mine. Besides I…” _I never want to face a world without you, kid._ “I don’t wanna face your scary aunt. She’d probably kill _me_ for letting _you_ get yourself killed, and then we’d _both_ be dead. Seems a little counterproductive to me.”

Peter just smiled and leaned into his mentor’s side. “Guess so.”

“And we gotta talk about that ‘spidey sense’ of yours. First of all, it needs a better name. Second of all, how the hell does it work? Once you’re back on your feet, we’re running experiments. A whole lot of them. What’s the point of having wicked cool premonition powers if you don’t even understand them?”

The kid giggled lightly, arm still wrapped protectively around his chest but eyes much calmer than before. “Won’t testing them mean putting me in danger?”

Tony glared. “We’ll work around that. For now, all you need to focus on is getting better and not _ever_ getting shot again.”

“I hate to break it to you, Mister Stark, but with my line of work, it seems kinda likely that something like this’ll happen again.”

_This kid is going to be the death of me._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The average time reported for the NYPD to respond to a situation involving an active shooter is about 3 minutes. In that time, someone with single, unmodified AR-15 can fire an average of 600 rounds.  
> Tony and Peter’s conversation at the end of this chapter is inspired by a real conversation my dad and I had after a shooting at our local elementary school. I was watching all the news coverage and we pretty much had that exact exchange, plus and minus a few bits to make it fit the story.


End file.
